


Nienor

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:11:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3745193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no legend in Arda more dolorous than one of Turin and Nienor. This lyric is a piece of this legend  - Turin's words over the body of his wife and sister, when he found it at the river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nienor

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

In a pitch-black flood is an icy stream,

But hands of yours are colder.

Your eyes are jewels icy-green,

And I do not dare to close 'em.

How long I was waiting, I cannot say,

And years have passed me by.

But all of a sudden I lost you again,

What for have I survived?

Of evening dusk I will weave the silk

And pearls for your shroud of tears.

O sister, forgive me I didn't feel

The kindred, when you were so near.

And whether I lament or sing a song,

Now you won't hear it.

I'll make you a funeral robe of fog,

Lay flowers to your feet.

Sister, I cannot warm up your hands.

As if carved of marble stone.

You lie under shadowy wings of death,

Who is thirsty to our moans.

As in your song, of lilies and stars

I'll weave for you a wreath.

I'm short of tears to ease my heart,

Ages will not efface my grief.

The hardest is knowing we won't meet again

Beyond the verge of the worlds.

The fate has designed for me none but the pain -

And our ways will not cross

Because of the Foe's spite-oozing words

And will of the cruel Gods.

***

A river pitch-black is an icy stream,

But Niniel's hands are colder.

Her eyes are like frozen dying green.

Nobody will dare to close' em .


End file.
